til then
by DrinkingAlcoholicRainbows
Summary: The stars stare at him, the missile heavy in his hands, and Tony allows himself, for a moment, to realize just how alone he's always been. :: Because, in the end, he's always been on the boulevard of broken dreams. And he's reached the end.


There's always been a reason why he preferred the night. Dark, shady, and cool - all around perfect. That's always the time when the signs light up, when the buildings turn on the lights, and when the stars shine; all of them trying to keep away from the shadows. It's always been easier to hide in the shadows.

He would know about that, wouldn't he?

And Tony sucks in his breath, asks to see or hear from Pepper one last time, because she's the only person who has ever reached this close to who he truly is, and still stood by his side. She's the only person, he thinks, that would miss him, even by a small amount. She was his twelve percent. He wants the other eighty-eight of their moments. One last chance to tell her that she has always been worth everything, more than he could ask for, the one who keeps him together, his shoulder - _Let me tell her I love her_, he thinks. _Let me tell her that she found me and put me together. _

He almost chokes back on a sob when his call wouldn't _couldn't_ put through. It's so mocking. The stars blink at him, silent, unflinching, unfeeling, and _hateshates__**hates**_ that they're so pretty. All of this, all of this; no, he doesn't even want it. To die in such a beautiful place...maybe for Yinsen, for Coulson, to anyone whose life he'd once unknowingly taken; they would deserve to have their soul fade into the stars, be stared at gawkingly from below, but not him - never him.

Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, and so unworthy of a heart that it was taken from him and he had to live through it.

It was better if it was him anyway. Barton, Romanoff, Thor, Bruce, and Captain America; more important. They were important people with important things to do and much better off without him anyway, because him? He would've torn the team apart. He would've destroyed whatever hopes they had of being a functional and effective team, and he probably would've been kicked out in maximum five months, minimum two weeks.

And Pepper, beautiful and perfect Pepper, with her steely look and her soul made from it, would probably be sad. Maybe she would cry. But she was Pepper Potts, and she would've pulled herself together and lead the company to success and to heaven. She was an angel, and that's what angels do, right? Help. He counted himself lucky that he could still recognize what that meant.

His bots would live.

Rhodey would be okay.

The world hated him anyway.

All in all, he was better off dead, which was probably why he was here, losing his breath and losing his life and losing everything because that was what he did, to be perfectly honest, and he's surprised he still can be because _liar liar pants on fire your situation's dire and nobody's coming to save you you're on your own and you're __**alone**__._

Because deep inside, deep and deep and deeper than the Marianas Trench, he's still the scared little boy waiting for approval. And he's scared right now, because what comes next? Science is not even close to finding out what happens when you die, all everyone knows is that you just do. Nobody knows if scenes of your life come crashing into your mind, if you see black, or you open your eyes again to find out you're in the afterlife. Nobody knows what happens next. And he's scared because he doesn't know what's going to happen after. He'll die, and the nobody would miss him. But what happens to _him_?

He braves through it, can feel the explosion coming. He closes his eyes, expecting to see Pepper's radiant grin, her near-invisible freckles able to be seen because she's close enough to kiss him; Yinsen pulling him up to stand after the car battery operation thing; Jarvis, the human butler Jarvis, the only one in that damn house to ever give a damn about him; Rhodey smirking at him over popcorn, back when they were at MIT; or maybe even Howard, the damn bastard, giving him a subtle nod and twitch of the lips.

He braces himself for the _it_.

And instead, he sees himself, partially hidden by the shadows and smiling, all alone like he's always been.

But not lonely.


End file.
